Sherlock Fanfic, Snap
by sherdocwho
Summary: Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson are kidnapped. John is not. Therefor, John will find them. But not before some good old fashioned torture... *grins wickedly* rated T for Torture. (haha get it?)
1. Chapter 1

**I am up at 1 in the morning writing. I am bored. This is probably going to have some Sherlock torture in it so... yeah. I am kind of scared to write this haha! Let me know what you think! Please review, it helps a lot!**

Sherlock was bored. John was out, going shopping, and probably having another row with the chip&pin machine. He had taken his gun, in case Sherlock tried to shoot anymore holes in the wall. All of Sherlock's experiments were in the waiting process. He had absolutely nothing to do. He lay there for awhile, not thinking. A sudden scream broke the silence. Sherlock sprang to his feet. He almost wanted to cheer, even if it was a false alarm, it was something to do. But the scream had sounded urgent, he needed to get down to- Mrs. Hudson. It was her. Sherlock practically fell down the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson are you okay!?" no answer, but the commotion stopped. Sherlock realized now he had been hearing scuffling. He darted into the hallway. Mrs. Hudson was being held over the shoulder of a big burly man, who had placed a gag in her mouth.

Sherlock felt white hot anger pulsing through him. He didn't care for a lot of people, but Mrs. Hudson was special. She was his landlady, and England would fall if any harm came to her.

"Let. Her. GO."

The man smirked. Without speaking he handed the landlady to a man behind him. Sherlock hadn't known there were two men. The first man walked toward him. Sherlock took a step back, not knowing if he could take the huge beast before him. The man had Sherlock cornered. He couldn't go into the flat and leave Mrs. Hudson. He couldn't get past the man. He would have to fight.

Sherlock charged, knowing already the outcome of this move.

The man did something unexpected. Sherlock had expected him to grab his out stretched arms. The man instead wrapped his large meaty hands around Sherlock's neck, and squeezed. Sherlock panicked. He couldn't leave Mrs. Hudson. He clawed at the hands, scratched, kicked, and attempted to bite. It was futile. They were too strong. Sherlock Holmes passed out.

"Oh Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson yelled through her gag. Well, she tried. It came out more like "o sherwok!" Mrs. Hudson was scared, and angry that these men would try to hurt one of her boys. She wanted to lash out, but the men were too big. They placed Sherlock in a large bag, carried both out the back, and into a truck. They set Mrs. Hudson down with care. They tossed Sherlock into the back, the bag he was in landed with a loud clang against the metal. The men got into the truck and drove off, right as John Watson returned.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Wow, 4 followers! Thanks! Ha ha, up at two now. I hope you enjoy this little transition chapter, it's not much.**

John was pleased. He had gotten all his groceries without hassle. No chip&pin machine was going to bring him down. He entered the building, noticing it was unlocked. That was funny. Mrs. Hudson never left the door unlocked. John decided to let it pass. He was in a good mood. He made his way to his flat, key ready. The door was wide open. Now _that _was weird. John cautiously entered his home.

"Sherlock? Did you leave the door open?"

No answer.

"Sherlock?" perhaps the man was asleep. No, no he wasn't. Sherlock hardly slept. John dropped the groceries.

"SHERLOCK!"

No one heard, and no one replied.

John rushed into Sherlock's bedroom. No one. He darted around the flat, looking for something, _anything_ that would tell him of Sherlock's safety. Nothing was there. John stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do. His mind was tangled with worry. A sudden memory surfaced. Mrs. Hudson. She had left the door unlocked.

"Mrs. Hudson." John whispered. He dashed down to her flat. No one. Both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were missing. Johns mind went into denial. Maybe they had gone off. At the exact same time. In a hurry.

John grabbed for his phone. He punched in a quick message.

_Sherlock, where are you? You left the door open._

_JW_

John only had to wait a few seconds for the reply.

_Sorry, Sherlie is out at the moment. I will be taking his calls until he can return. Which means…? FOREVER! Lol! :)_ _Ttyl,_

_JM_

John's heart skipped a beat. JM. He knew those initials far too well. If Jim Moriarty had Sherlock and his landlady... he didn't want to think about the outcome of the situation. They could be anywhere by now, and the only person that could find them was...

"Mycroft."

John didn't enjoy going to the older Holmes for help. Mycroft was too much like Sherlock, but at the same time, was so much different. In this particular predicament, john couldn't waste time. He had to contact Sherlock's brother, whether he liked it or not.

/

"Mycroft? Is this you, or another bot? Good. Yes, um... Sherlock has been...yes, and Mrs. Hudson. Moriarty. He sent a text from Sherlock's phone. Knocked out? WH-what about Mrs. Hudson!? Is she- what do you mean 'I don't know?' you knew about Sherlock! Ok, ok. Good, fine. YES. Be there soon."

As John had suspected, Mycroft had already known, via cameras. The men who took Sherlock had taken out the cameras, but only after they had knocked Sherlock out. Mycroft had offered no further knowledge, but proposed a meeting with john at Speedy's cafe. John had no choice but to accept. After all, it was always up to Holmes's to figure it out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh my gosh. People are following... This story. ****_This _****story. I can't even tell you how high I jump when I get a follower email. Wow, thanks guys! :D Please take time to review, it helps keep me motivated, and provokes faster updates! :P**

Sherlock lay asleep on the floor of a rumbling cell. Bright blades of light sliced across his white face, illuminating several bruises lining his neck. Small whimpers were what finally woke the consulting detective, just loud enough for his ears. They reminded him of someone, a small boy. A pip in the back of his mind told him to discard the thought, and focus on something else. Yes, yes focus. What had happened? Sherlock opened his eyes. He couldn't see much, or think, really. A fog had seeped itself into his brain, and clouded his thoughts. He shifted a bit, finding himself chained by both wrists to a wall. No, not a wall. Cold metal bars. A cage? Oh good. He could think. Sherlock groaned quietly, and found the noise slightly sticky in his throat. Of course, he had been throttled. Almost choked for his landlady. Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson!

"Hud-(Sherlock hacked and wheezed.) Mrs. Hudson!?"

There was a moment of tense hesitation before Sherlock was met with a reply.

"Oh, oh Sherlock, we were kidnapped, and-and you were cho-"

"Are you okay; are you fine, _did they hurt you_?"

"Oh yes dear, I am perfectly fine, you?"

Sherlock grimaced. Mrs. Hudson wasn't hurt, that was good. But he still had no idea why they were being abducted, where they were, or who took them.

"Sherlock?"

"Fine, fine."

Sherlock's neck didn't exactly feel fine, but he felt no need to worry his landlady. He needed to get _her_ focused, on remembering her captors.

"Who took you?"

The poor lady whimpered and shook her head.

"Well, I don't know them... they said they were picking up the bins early."

Of course. Mrs. Hudson loved her bins.

"Okay. Tell me exactly what happened, starting from when the men first entered the place, to now."

Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath, and started.

"Well, the knocked on the doors, and said they were here for early bin pick up. Then, out of nowhere, they come barging in. They...they picked me up, and threw me over a shoulder. That when you came down, and-Oh Sherlock the sight of it! I thought you were dead! After they... choked you, they put me in the back seat of their truck; it was a landscaper van I think. You were tossed in the back; they had you in a cuttings bag. During the ride, I was knocked out-"

"They hit you!?"

"Oh, no! They used a sedative, and were very skilled too! Felt like I was in a professional hospital!"

Sherlock held his hand up. He had heard enough. The way to escape was to know your captor. He wasn't dealing with an amateur. No criminal he knew of could _not_ cause any pain when administering sedative. One that had previously worked in a hospital might. That left one person...

Moriarty.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Woah, 20 followers!? That is a lot more than I even hoped to get, thanks so much, hope I make it worth your while! In regards to bruderlein's timid question, I had thought about that, but whopdeedo:)I forgot to explain. From my point of view, Jim has been snooping around the hospital, surveying the building to make sure Sherlock went there. So he had to have seen a lot of medical procedures. Thinking of reviews, thanks! I really appriciate everyones comments and questions. Next chapter is going to have some sherlock wumph mwuahahaha... **

John really hated Mycroft sometimes. The man reminded him of a plush teddy bear, puffy and fake. It was just the way Sherlock's brother marched around, as if he owned the world. John grinned. Sherlock would say he probably did. Johns grin slid off his face, as the realisation that Sherlock was absent from the picture hit. That was why he must meet Mycroft. To get his detective back. John took a deep breath and ignoring the men in black standing outside Speedy's, slipped into the cafe.

Mycroft watched John as he entered. John gulped nervously and sat down across from the secret man. Silence enlisted as both men wondered what to say.

_Ok Mycroft won't help if I freak out at him... He is supposed to be watching Sherlock! What does he want though? Should I ask or..._

_John has the right to be angry... it is partially my fault... what do I say? He got the landlady too... two blows to John... Hm... Must have hurried over here, broke off a date- no Myc, stay focused. What to say..._

John was rather amused, this was the first time Mycroft Holmes hadn't been talkative in his life. John thought, and decided correctly it meant Sherlock was in more trouble than usual.

"This is a bit not good, correct?"

"Yes, yes. Sherlock could be anywhere."

John Watson let his eyes grow wide.

"You have no idea what's happening, or where Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson are."

Mycroft lowered his eyes, taking a classic Holmes pose, nodded slightly.

"The all powerful reduced to nothing. That's what scares you the most. Not Sherlock being kidnapped along with my landlady. Not the fact they could both be hurt. Just the fact you can't do a thing about it. You're powerless."

Mycroft kept in his bubbling rage. He knew he could tell enough about John to bring the man down. He also knew human emotions. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson had been captured by Moriarty. The man was a genius. The difference was how Jim had let the smarts get to his head, and warped his mind to a setting most people didn't have. Full on psycho. Both he and Sherlock had the access to that brain, Sherlock more than himself. John knew the craziness of this man. He knew how much hurt he could bring. John needed to vent, and if Mycroft had to take the blows, so be it.

"You, you don't even care! He's your brother! He's been kidnapped and you aren't doing anything!"

Mycroft sat there, thinking. He had sat for a good hour looking through security footage. He was the one who set it up. He looked through every shot, trying to see if there had been just a split second where the criminal's faces entered the screen. But they got their instructions from a mastermind, no such luck. However, even geniuses make mistakes, and Mycroft was good at pointing them out.

"Your phone. Please."

John, who had been raging the whole time, stopped in midsentence and allowed a classic look of confusion to rain onto his face.

"Muh- My phone?"

Mycroft nodded, and held out his hand. John's brain tugged. He finally shoved his tired hands into his pockets, and pulled out the engraved thing.

"I set up a very complicated tracking system in SHerlock's phone. Moriarty has noticed, and set a virus to it."

John stared.

"And how is that going to help?"

"As I was saying, this particular tracker was a tough one to break. The whereabouts of my brother in the past hour are still hidden in the system.

John opened his mouth, feeling a slight flush to his cheeks. Mycroft smiled knowingly and exited the cafe, saying;

"I need a computer to crack it, mind if I borrow yours?"

John didn't need to answer. Nor did he need to warn Mycroft of the password protection. Mycroft was a Holmes. They always figure it out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Yay, follows and reviews! Thanks :) And to Eggwonna; OH MY GOSH DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LOUD I SCREAMED!? Thank you so much. Sorry if this chapter is kinda weird, this is my first Sherlock wumph story. Enjoy! I'll be writing a death fic soon, be sure to check it out! (ps. Next chapter, the REAL fun begins. hahaha)**

Sherlock's brain had begun to awaken. He sighed, wishing he had some nicotine patches. Now that he was nearly functional, it was time to fashion an escape plan. With Moriarty behind their capture, this wouldn't be easy. Sherlock began to go through his mind palace, looking for escape tips.

_Step one; Know where you are escaping from._

"Oh."

Sherlock shook away the fact that he hadn't remembered that right away, and concentrated on the rumbling noise beneath him.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

She looked over at him, smiling sadly.

"Yes Sherlock? Did you find a way out?"

"No, but I should once I know where we are."

The detective felt a little strange having to ask his landlady to do some sleuthing, but with both wrists cuffed and chained to... something, it was his only option.

"Would you mind putting your ear to the ground and then tell me exactly what you hear?"

He stated this hastily and hesitantly, just as he always said things when he didn't really agree with what came out of his mouth.

"Oh of course dear!"

Sherlock marvelled at the lady's cheeriness as she lowered her kind face to the floor. All was silent. Mrs. Hudson sat up suddenly. Her expression had turned to one of fear. Sherlock's eyes widened, and then narrowed. He had an idea of what she heard.

"Kind of a clickety noise, like..."

"A train. We're on a train."

Sherlock groaned. It was going to be twice as hard to get out now. Mrs. Hudson couldn't jump out of a train, so they would have to wait out the ride, and run when the doors opened. If the entrance wasn't guarded too heavily. And how far could they run? How fast? Where to? How was he to get out of the cuffs? Sherlock hoped the ride wouldn't be much longer. His arms ached from being in the same position, and he was bored.

\

The train carried them far, further than Sherlock had hoped it would. Neither captive was sure how long the ride had lasted, but both had fallen asleep eventually. They were woken up by a loud screech. The sound echoed against Sherlock's ears.

_Metal on metal. Someone is coming in._

Light poured into the small train car, as Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson blinked away the sudden light. Two large men, probably the thugs that kidnapped them, were blocking the door. So much for running. As Sherlock's blurred vision slowly improved, and his eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out a third person behind the brutes.

_Slender build, suit, stance... uh oh. _

"Wakey wakey Sherlie... Don't wanna miss the party!"

The large men shuffled aside, revealing a Cheshire cat grin, and skull tie. Jim Moriarty stepped in front of the sun, eagerly staring at Sherlock and his landlady. The consulting detective's brain went haywire, scenes of former Moriarty encounters playing through his mind. Mrs. Hudson scooted closer to him, lines of worry and fear etching across her face.

"Oh don't be afraid Hudson, I won't bite... Though, I may electrocute."

Sherlock let a mix of disgust and hate come out in a snarl.

"Now now Sherlie, behave! Don't wanna hurt _her_..."

Jim Moriarty stepped into the train car and smiled as if Sherlock was a two year old who had just said something incredibly cute and stupid.

"_I want to burn __you_."

Moriarty took Sherlock's chin in his hand, and forced the detectives face up, to look him in the eye.

"We both know you don't want that to happen..."

Moriartys whisper sent chills through Sherlock's mind, though he would never admit it. Sherlock Holmes was afraid. He never really got the hang of emotions. In fact, he often scoffed at basic human fear, happiness, and anger. Now a strong fear was raging through him, and he really didn't know what to do with it. So Sherlock let fear take over, and bit down on Moriartys long hand as hard as he could. He didn't really remember what happened next, but the next time he was aware, Moriarty had drawn back, Mrs. Hudson was crying, and his head had fallen forward. Sherlock felt a tickle on his cheek. He wondered if he had been crying as well, but then realised it was blood. It hurt to lift his head, upon attempting to; he let out a low groan.

Sherlock peeked up.

Moriarty held a short metallic pole. One side was splattered with red, which Sherlock correctly guessed was his blood. Sherlock's battered brain finally put together the pieces and deduced a blow to the head. The pain suddenly hit, and Sherlock cringed.

"Well, that's what naughty boys get Sherlie! Don't do that again, and I won't have to punish you. Say you're sorry..."

Sherlock was silent. Moriarty approached him. The madman swiftly punched the detective in the stomach, eliciting a gasp from Mrs. Hudson, and a staccato yelp from Sherlock.

"Say you're sorry Sherlie, or she's next."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, and gurgled out words.

"S-surrry..."

Moriarty made a face, the kind of face people make when they are either moderately impressed with something, or think something is rather average.

"Mm, good enough. Oh, rest up you. Got a big day ahead."

Sherlock was happy to oblige.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok, sorry if this chapter seems rushed. I am moving today, driving all the way across the country, so I may not update for awhile. Sorry! Thanks to the new follows, favorites, and reviews. I really enjoy reading your feedback! Heres JIMMY.**

"Ok, steeeeeeeady, steady... Oh who am I kidding!? Just, get him to the jet already."

Two burly brutes were in the process of dragging a scraggly looking man into a small jet. At first, their boss played innocent, but had gotten bored with the idea. After all, they had to be quick, or the man's older brother would catch on. He couldn't go ruining the fun already. Not yet, the game had just begun.

"UGHHHHH hurry up!"

Moriarty tilted his head, thinking about how much of a child he was. His 'henchmen' finally succeeded in bundling the detective next to a whimpering landlady, who put her arms around her protector. The bullies sniggered at the woman, and slammed the cargo door shut. Turning to their master, they were met with something rather unexpected. For them. Moriarty had both arms extended, pointing at their chests. In the dull light, it almost looked like he wanted a hug. The smile on his face told otherwise. Everyone's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and it became clear what Jim was up to.

"Sorry boys, this is our final stop."

He held a gun in each hand.

"Too bad..."

Moriarty looked thoughtful as he said the sentence, and the thugs thought perhaps he was considering not killing them.

"It's been fun! I just don't need others now. Sherlie doesn't have the strength to overpower anyone, what's the old lady gonna do, and I _really_ want to practice my shooting."

Mrs. Hudson quickly turned away from the window as two loud bangs blasted through the air. Muffled thumps followed soon after. The landlady clung to Sherlock.

/

After a few hours of tense flying and rolling around in the cargo area, the dreaded plane finally made contact with the earth again. Sherlock had gained a few more bruises, mostly from not being awake whenever the plane lurched, some from the iron grip of Mrs. Hudson. The lady felt bad about using him as an anchor, but somehow knew he wouldn't mind. He took many smacks for her in the past.

Mrs. Hudson pulled Sherlock upright into somewhat of a sitting position. She calmed herself, and pretending to be John, began to inspect his head wound. It looked rather nasty, especially since he still hadn't awoken. His pale skin made the blood prominent and angry. It had since reopened; looking about as bad a head wound can get. The cut was bleeding freely, and, though Mrs. Hudson wasn't much for medics, she knew the bleeding had to stop.

Of course, that was moment Jim decided to burst in, hoist the detective over his shoulder, and motion for the landlady to follow.

Mrs. Hudson knew better than to disobey.

She was blindfolded and pushed in many different looping directions, once in awhile hearing the slow calm voice of Jim Moriarty. After miles of walking and stumbling, she felt the ground grow hard; it was solid beneath her feet. The blindfold was removed. Mrs. Hudson found herself being shoved into a small cell, which was connected to another by a chain link fence. Sherlock was pushed into the other. Jim grinned, and sauntered away. Mrs. Hudson was too scared to move. Sherlock was too unconscious. Moriarty returned, pulling behind him a gurney, and holding two small knives.

Mrs. Hudson began to have flashbacks, of the days before Sherlock, the days when she was still married. The madman entered Sherlock's cell, and easily drug him out. Sherlock began to awaken, _again_ much to his disappointment. He was lying out on his stomach, back vulnerable. He cringed a bit, head pain returning. Jim ran out of patience.

"Oh _come on_ WAKE UP! Yeesh, you are a sound sleeper. Does he normally sleep this well Hudson?"

Sherlock glanced at his landlady as she quickly shook her head. Moriarty looked a bit irked.

"You're all so boring, let's get this show on the road! Think I'll start with the back first... Hm... Maybe- It's so hard to choose! You know how that is."

Jim sounded like a teenage school girl. Sherlock wondered what exactly he meant by 'start with the back first', and then all at once figured it out as his shirt was ripped off. He began to take more notice of things, like the small fact that his mortal enemy is holding a knife in his hand. The detective thrashed about, knowing exactly what Moriarty was up to.

"Ooooh no, no Sherlie! I told you bad boys get punished didn't I?"

Sherlock gasped as Jim slid the knife into his flesh, and began to pull down. It was a small cut, but Moriarty was putting more and more pressure onto the blade, pushing it into Sherlock's back. The blade tore and ripped at his skin, causing the genius to cry out in a mixture of pain and annoyance.

"Don't like that much do you..."

Jim jerked the knife out, and Sherlock tightened his grip on the gurney. HE began to make another line down Sherlock's upper back, this time full on stabbing the detective, and pulling slower, twisting the blade every so often. Sherlock screamed. Mrs. Hudson began to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

**I am so sorry for making you wait. Who knew moving across the country could be so... Bleh? This is basically a very short place holder chapter, until my computer starts working again, and until I get unsick. Yes that's right, using my iPod for this, and I have the worst cold. I'm enduring a headache for you guys I hope you're happy! ;) also, I've written a Sherlock abuse story, which I think you'll enjoy if you like this story! So have fun this week, stay healthy, happy, and REVIEW MAH STORY**

Mycroft Holmes was very worried. It had been hours since the tracker was lost, and for most of the hours there was no word from the psychopath who now held his brother captive. At least he, as promised, was able to view the previous whereabouts of Sherlock, but for only about twenty of the minute he had been kidnapped. It wasn't much use, but he would make it work. Hell; he had too. No one suspected the ice man to have much heart, but Mycroft always tried to protect Sherlock, no matter the arguments they always seemed to get into. Bickering like they did as children. Mycroft almost smiled, but seemed to remember he was Mycroft, and let his stone face fall. The tapping outside his door had started up again. It was his anxious client. He couldn't still couldn't get John to be as calm as he would've preferred, at least he wasn't throwing punches though.

JWJWJWJWJWJWJWJWJW

John was pacing back and forth outside Mycroft's office, swearing under his breath. He could have prevented this. He knew he could have. And now, who knew what was happening to Sherlock!? He stared at the door impatiently, willing Mycroft to come bustling out bearing good news. No movement. He stared harder. The sudden dinging of his phone broke him away from the "mind power" and John blushed in annoyance. He wasn't feeling too great.

John reached down for his phone, and stared at the text. It was Sherlock. Or rather, Jim Moriarty. He almost didn't want to look at whatever horrid message the mad man sent him, but forced himself anyway. He tapped the screen, and gasped. It was a picture, with a caption.

Sherlock lay face down on a gurney, shirtless. A smiley face had been carved into his back, and it was bleeding freely onto his pants. John snarled and shook with rage.

"_**MYCROFT**_."

He heard the footsteps of Sherlocks brother near the door as he read;

_Won't you come and play with us?_

_-JM_


	8. Chapter 8

**WHOOT WHOOT I BACK! ok readers, I have in my possesion, a computer. And I am so sorry for the long wait. :( so soooorry. but I will be updating more often now, yay :3 so, news. I am moving yet again, but dont worry, not for at least 3 months. I am planning more story, with more funs. Ima gonna write some star trek, so if you want to see that, follow me as an author. I'm also writing some angellock with my friend, username Boens McCoy. yes it is whumph yes it has angst yes it has gay. all the gay. go follow her she awesome yes. ok, have fune, and please review! makes my day and may provoke faster updates!**

**~ash**

Jim Moriarty was having fun. He hadn't really expected his new pet to scream so soon, or he would've probably started with something less painful. But this was good too. He enjoyed a good scream as much as the next psychotic mad man. Moriarty had to admit, he'd wanted to carve up Sherlock Holmes as long as he had know of the famous detective. Now that his dream was finally coming true, he noticed the lack of adrenalin the process gave him. Maybe he wouldn't just scratch Sherlie. Maybe he would scar him.

Sherlock was returned to his cell as soon as the text was sent. Mrs. Hudson was fussing over him through the fence, telling him to please lie down and rest and oh dear that horrible, horrible man.

But Sherlock wasn't there.

He was walking the halls of his mind, trying to find an escape plan. Yes his back hurt, and of course he knew he had to get the wound covered before he bled out, but all that had to wait. Right now, he had to focus on getting his landlady out. The average person can survive about 3 days without water, and maybe a week without food. Sherlock had no idea if Moriarty was going to give them the privilege of nutrients, but he had a feeling the answer was no. So that meant, according to what time he assumed it was, they had about two days to escape. Not good.

_"A bit not good." _

Sherlock shook his head, as the john file came loose from its place and fluttered around his mind. He wished he could have the advice of his flatmate at a time like this.

"Sherlock? I hear footsteps..."

The worried voice of Sherlock's landlady broke him away from his mind palace, and brought him back to the sitting position he had taken in the cell. The said footsteps grew nearer, and Sherlock stood. He wanted to draw all attention to himself, until Mrs. Hudson could be guaranteed safety. James Moriarty entered the room.

"Well hello Sherlie! How are you today!? Good, ok. Now, we begin our game."

Sherlock started to speak, but was quickly cut off by his enemy.

"Now now, all questions will be held until _after_ we play. That's one rule, the rest I will explain when the fun starts!"

Jim seemed to be bristling with excitement for what Sherlock could only believe to be more torture. He sighed and walked out as the madman opened his cage.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

This time it was a chair. A big wooden chair, with straps for arms, chest and feet. Sherlock's still bloodied back stuck to it, creating another discomfort. But Sherlock wasn't paying attention to that. No, he had his sights on the hammer being grasped by Moriarty. The man approached him.

"Now then. Away from the old coot... MUCH better! Don't you think? Blubbering at the slightest drop of blood, Yeesh. Now that i have you all to myself, let's talk about that magnificent body of yours..."

Sherlock visibly stiffened, and locked his jaw.

"Those long slender violin hands, oh I would give anything to have them! But you see, I can't have them. And that, _that_ is a problem. One that can be easily fixed I'm afraid. Because if you don't have perfect fingers, I won't be jealous!"

Moriarty gave a meaningful glance at the hammer, and brought it to the tip of Sherlock's nose.

"That's what this little beauty is for. I had Sebby steal it for me! Isn't it wonderful?"

When no response was elicited from the detective, Jim sighed and raised the hammer.

"Well alright then. I'll just start."

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut, of course knowing just what the madman was about to do.

Jim smiled, and swung the hammer down with all the might he could muster.


End file.
